


Return From the Dead

by FleetSparrow



Series: Drawlloween 2017 [1]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-19 11:56:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12409863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FleetSparrow/pseuds/FleetSparrow
Summary: Coming back isn't as neat as it seems in movies.  In fact, it's terrifying.





	Return From the Dead

The world around him was dark and smothering.  The air in his lungs was stale and dusty, as if he was underground.  He pressed his hands up above him and hit a padded lid.

He was in a coffin.

He screamed, desperately and without thought, a hideous coarse cry of panic and rage.  How could someone do this to him?  Who could have done this?  The last thing he remembered....

But he didn't remember.  He didn't remember anything except waking up to an unnatural darkness.

Finally, his voice gave out and somewhere in his mind came the thought that he needed to preserve his air.  It was precious now and he'd already wasted it.

He clawed at the panel above him, scratching helplessly at expensive fabric he couldn't even see.  He knew it was fine because it wouldn't tear.  No matter how ragged his nails became, it wouldn't tear.  He started pounding on the lid, praying, begging that someone hear him, a visitor, a passerby, hell, even a dog.  Someone who might alert others to him.

Hot tears streamed down his face and into his ears.  Perhaps one time he would have been ashamed to cry so openly, but there is no shame when you're dead.  His mind was racing terribly, desperate to find something of before to give him, some reason he was here and trapped.

"Br..."

His voice was raw from his screaming and the air was rapidly failing.

"Bru...."

Yes, there was a name.  Somewhere.  Hiding there in the back of his mind.  He almost had it.

"BRUCE!"

He screamed as loud as he could, terrified by the memories that rushed to assault him.  All he could focus on was that name.  He repeated it over and over on his tongue and in his brain.  Nothing but Bruce.  Everything Bruce.  Bruce could save him.  Bruce had buried him.  Bruce was the only and yet nothing.

Suddenly something clanged against the lid of his coffin, something hard and metal.  He gasped, his air disappearing faster and faster.  He tried to speak again, but his tongue wouldn't move.  His throat tightened.  To wake up in a coffin just to die again was unfair, horrifically unfair.  The pitch black swam before him, bright spots of color popping in his eyes.  His hands fell to his sides.  His face twisted up into a ghoulish grin as he fought to breathe in whatever was left.

But Bruce _Bruce **Bruce**_  B r u c e

The lid of the coffin opened with a hiss.  Cold air rushed into his starving lungs, making him gag and cough.  Dirt fell onto his face and hands as he clawed at his throat, willing it to open and breathe again.

Arms were around him suddenly, pulling him up and holding him tightly to a sturdy chest.

"Jason.  My God, Jason!"

He gasped and sputtered, his lungs burning with the chilly air.  But he breathed.  He was alive.

"Bruce."

The arms held him tighter, pulling him up and out of his coffin.  He was carried like a child out of the grave onto solid ground, while he clung desperately to his savior.

"Bruce."

"I'm here, Jason.  I'm here.  You're safe now."

**Author's Note:**

> For Drawlloween 2017. So I'm writing them. Whatever.


End file.
